


megane

by suzuyaaaaa



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Crushes, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Glasses, Hurt/Comfort, MORE SELF SERVICE, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Pining, Sickfic, but like rly small hurt u feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 07:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15019802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzuyaaaaa/pseuds/suzuyaaaaa
Summary: as it turns out, makoto wears glasses.





	megane

**Author's Note:**

> first fic of the summa!!! i started this a while back but didn't get around to finishing it until now :)) i hv plans to write for other p5 ships (and ... maybe even update that yoi fic bc its been ... a while...) but shumako inspires me sm!! its very easy to write their dynamic so im just pumping it out :,) this is much longer than i anticipated whoops
> 
> unbeta'd so lets pray for no typos! pls enjoy :D

**_akirawr xD_ ** _ > hey im here_

 

Akira stares at the text he sent a few minutes ago before turning his gaze up at the Niijima household. His umbrella cuts the gray sky into scallops, and rain slips off the edge and down onto his shoes and blazer. Makoto always had her phone nearby, and she would’ve replied by now. She hates having notifications build up. Akira chews his lip as his gaze climbs up towards Makoto’s dark window. Did he come off as too distant? Or did he come off as too _eager_?

Makoto _never_ gets sick, and even when she is, she always comes to school anyways, a model student to the very end. Akira felt that something was off when he stepped into Shujin that morning, and his stomach sank when he entered the empty student council room. He went to Makoto’s teacher and picked up all her missed work, deciding to march up to her house and hand them over. Makoto _seemed_ very thankful when he told her he was coming over. He’s done it for both Ann and Ryuji on multiple occasions, so this shouldn’t be any different.

Akira can’t help but sigh at his own hopelessness, his fist clenched too tight around his bag. Makoto isn’t just Ann or Ryuji, and he knows it, so there’s no point in lying to himself. Everything is different around Makoto because she _is_ Makoto. It kind of sucks.

Akira tears his gaze away from the window to the door, and after a moment of hesitation, he steps under the awning and death glares at the bell, too little and too big all at once. He’s been to Makoto’s house before. He’s _Joker,_ cool and calm and confident, so why is he tensing up over smashing his thumb into a button?

 _You know exactly why,_ Arsene whispers from the depths of his heart, voice filling up his mind and his mouth. Akira rolls his eyes and slips out his phone again, fingers flying to send another text.

 

 ** _akirawr xD_ ** _ > do you want me to come back later? i dont-_

 

Akira backspaces those words faster than he ever has backed out of anything in his life, clicking his phone to sleep and hitting the doorbell before he can regret it. He huffs, closes his umbrella, runs a hand through his hair even though it’s already messy, so that’s just counterproductive. He can hear a dull ring from inside the house, and all the blood in his body rushes up to his ears. He hates the sound of his own pulse.

After a minute or two of rocking on his heels and cracking his fingers into the wet near-silence, a little _bzzt_ cuts through the steady heartbeat in his ears. Akira glances down at his most recent text.

 

 ** _Niijima Makoto_ ** _ > I’ll be right down!_

 

Akira sags in relief as he sends a quick “ _ok_ ” before staring out at the rain. The Niijimas live in Kanda, and the rain washes over the neighborhood like a shiny glaze. Water bounces off the black roofs and brown walls, outlining each house in a white halo. It’s picturesque, a living painting. Akira chuckles; Yusuke’s clearly been rubbing off on him.

Something falls within the house, or rather someone given the soft-spoken “Ugh, _fuck_ ” Akira hears through the wood, and then the knob is turning, and Akira’s breath starts to pick up, and-

Makoto opens the door but barely, revealing one brown eye through the tiny crack. His heart stops at the intensity of her stare, but then it stops _again_ when he notices the thick layer of glass in front of her eye. Akira lets his hand drop from his bag to his side, opening his mouth to say something to slice through the drizzle, through this door, through her gaze. Has she ever looked at him like that?

“Makoto! Hi,” he says as casually as he can, shifting his weight between his hips like the skinny wimp he is because he shouldn’t sound so stiff. Makoto blinks at him from behind her shield, and then she opens the door a little more, cheeks dusted rose as she pushes her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. Akira has to stop himself from melting on the spot.

“Hi, Akira-kun,” Makoto croaks out, wincing and bringing a hand up to rub her throat. “S-Sorry I answered late. The, ah, the doorbell woke me up.” Akira’s eyes widen in surprise, and Makoto covers her reddening face. Her fingers snake under the glasses to rub at her tired eyes before adjusting them to sit just far enough so that her lashes don’t press against them. _Cute_. “I would’ve gone to school, but I slept past my alarm, so Sae quarantined me,” she continues, looking not quite at him.

Akira chuckles, smiles sympathetically, and rubs a hand over her shoulder, the fabric of her dark sweater incredibly soft under his palm. Makoto’s shoulders visibly fall as she relaxes, but she still refuses to look up at him, eyeing his bag instead. Neither of them say anything, and the silver rain closes them off from the rest of the world. “Are you... embarrassed? It’s okay to stay home if you’re sick,” Akira says as Makoto looks to the space between his eyebrows, “or if you’re not up to wearing contacts.”

Makoto’s eyes finally meet his, and she chokes on an inhale, her little coughs into her elbow turning into full-on hacks. Without even thinking, Akira wraps his arms around her lithe frame, big hands lying flat on her back as he tries to help her calm down. Makoto eventually sags into his hug, and Akira closes his eyes in quiet thanks that she didn’t shove him into the street. “You could’ve brought them up differently,” she mutters under her breath. She turns away from his shoulder to let out a sneeze, loud and unladylike, un _Makoto_ like.

“You know me. Gotta keep things interesting,” he shoots back quietly, a familiar smirk tugging on his lips when she punches his shoulder _hard_.

Makoto pulls away and rolls her eyes, taking off her glasses to wipe a blue-black sleeve over them. He’s never thought about Makoto wearing glasses, but if she had some, it would definitely be these. She has one of those cool expensive pairs he saw when he went shopping, thick black frames on top balanced out by thin silver ones on the bottom. Very Niijima.

Makoto shoves her glasses back on and slaps the sides of her face; Akira nearly jolts at the sudden noise. She stands up tall and looks right at him this time, a shy smile slipping onto her pretty mouth. “Will you stay over for a bit, then? It’s kind of boring not to have anyone to talk to.” Akira feels his consciousness leaving him through his exhales, floating away as he turns pale with shock and infatuation. “Plus, exams are next week, and studying with people never hurts,” Makoto continues a little less confidently. His eyes dart down to her fingers playing with the waistband of her leggings – covered in little sushi drawings! – and he realizes that maybe, _she’s_ nervous? Why would she be?

Akira steps forward and tries to put on his Joker face, an easy way to regain his composure. His eyes narrow as he looks at Makoto through his lashes. “Honey, I’m hooooooome,” he grins, waiting to see her reaction.

Makoto’s eyes flatten into a deadpan stare, and she squishes his face between her fingers, perfect nails digging crescents into his cheeks. _Holy shit_ . “I forget you’re still just a second year,” she mutters, kissing her teeth as she lets go and turns to go inside. Akira tries to calm down the rapid beating of his heart because that might’ve been the _hottest thing he’s ever seen Makoto do_. She glances back at him over her shoulder. Akira freezes at the gleam in her eyes; for a moment, they look almost red. “Welcome home.” She pulls him inside with the flick of her fingers, clear nail polish shining like a treasure.

This is where he dies.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, see, you’re making the same mistake right ‒ _achoo_!” Akira frowns and reaches for the box. Makoto sniffs violently and snatches a tissue, blowing long and hard into it. Her nose is bright red and raw like a little cherry, and she’s draped a thick blanket over herself even though the house is fairly warm. “Sorry, I keep interrupting us,” Makoto rasps, popping another lemon cough drop out of the wrapper and onto her tongue. After being here for about an hour, Akira can tell how pale Makoto is compared to the rosy flush she usually has. She looks like a sketch, all harsh lines and barely any color.

“Do you want to take a break?” he asks before he can stop himself, concern overriding his will to stay silent and not annoy her. Makoto frowns at him deeply. Akira huffs and plucks Makoto’s pencil out of her fingers, moving quickly to pack away their supplies sprawled over the coffee table. “You can’t do well as a student if you aren’t actually well in the first place,” he chides lightly, careful to convey that he’s just worried, not irritated. He still hears Makoto sigh reluctantly when he pulls on the curtains.

There’s some shuffling soon after. When Akira looks back, Makoto has spread her legs out, taking up most of the couch as she lies down. She chews on her lip in thought before lifting her head and patting the spot under it. Akira strides over and shoves his hands into his back pockets. When he sits down, Makoto promptly lies on his thighs, humming contently and turning her face into the fabric. “I hope you don’t mind,” she whispers quietly, Akira’s cheeks flushing as he tries not to yelp, “but you’re _really_ warm.”

Akira doesn’t trust himself to speak, not without spilling a messy confession that he’s been holding in for months. He opts to comb a few fingers through her short hair instead; it’s just as smooth as it looks, perfectly straight and mahogany. Makoto curls in on herself and yawns, and Akira thinks of Morgana. His hand stops mid-brush when he wonders what the cat would think about _this._ “Why haven’t you told her yet?! You’re _Joker_!” Akira’s eyes roll into his head at the sheer thought of the inevitable nagging and whining.

“Thanks again for coming over,” Makoto murmurs, pulling Akira out of his trance. She turns onto her back and lies flat on his legs, and the lights cast a glare on her glasses, hiding one eye from sight. “You know, I haven’t shown anyone my glasses actually,” she continues as her lozenge clacks against her teeth in disharmony.

Akira falls back against the cushions and opts to look at the gray rain illuminating Kanda like heaven itself. “Is there any reason why you haven’t?” Makoto shifts on him and sighs, so Akira goes back to finger combing her hair.

“Not really. I think I just look so nerdy with them on.” Akira snorts and pulls on Makoto’s braid, letting it snap back against her head. She smacks his thigh with fatigued force, and he snickers and smirks when he sees her exasperation. “You always do this every time we hang out,” she tsks.

Akira pouts and smooths over the spot her headband hit, countering, “I do it because you say stuff that isn’t true.” Makoto tries to sit up, but Akira motions for her to stop. She plops back down on him, and her hair fans across plaid fabric. His breath hitches because even when she’s sick, Makoto makes everything look like it’s intentional, by flawless, Niijima design. “Your glasses are jazzy as fuck,” he blurts out.

Makoto laughs abruptly, a little scream of joy, before holding herself back with a few fingers over her mouth. “I would say the same for you, but they’re fake, aren’t they?” she asks between quiet giggles, eyes glittering garnet with amusement. Akira takes off his own glasses, squinting at her through his lashes. She laughs even more with unbridled volume; Akira falls all over again.

Eventually, Makoto goes silent. Akira takes it upon himself to start braiding her bangs, adjusting his legs for her comfort. “To be honest, I don’t think I wear them because I look...” Akira pauses and leans over her, and she sighs. Something in his chest aches. “I look less appealing. I’m already shunned for being the Robot President, so the glasses make me look so boring and sleepy. People won’t come to me. I’ll be useless.” Akira’s fingers tense when gray meets brown again. Would she be telling him this if she wasn’t sick at all? Makoto sits up next to him, wrapping her blanket tighter until only the top half of her head sticks out. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it as you can tell. I didn’t mean to say so much.”

Akira immediately shakes his head and scoots a little closer; she leans on his shoulder and tucks her knees to her chest, a shrinking violet in her own home. “How many times do I have to tell you I’ll listen until _you’ll_ listen?” he lightly nags. Makoto hums quietly but doesn’t continue. He pushes his glasses back onto his nose and swings an arm over her shoulder. The rain echoes in his ears as Makoto sniffs, hiding her face in his blazer. “I don’t think it matters how useful you are to someone. People aren’t meant to be used, and you shouldn’t be exploited like that. Who cares if your glasses set them off? You’re the queen of your own life.”

Makoto coughs out a laugh and presses into him further. She props her chin on his shoulder, and Akira makes the mistake of turning to face her. His head aches as he goes cross eyed to gaze at her through his dark curls. Makoto is rose gold, cheeks flowery pink and nose still as red as before. The glasses cast shadowy curves over her face, and Akira can’t breathe. “You’re a walking sap,” she whispers, and the entire room falls away aside from her, her, _her_. “But, you’re right. You always knows what to say.”

She pulls away and doesn’t quite see him again, focusing on the bridge of his glasses. “I’ll learn it eventually, but I’m glad you remind me of it,” she finally says after a few beats of silence. She meets him with a bright, honest smile, the kind that makes her eyes slant up and her nose scrunch into a little freckled button. Akira digs his nails into his palms and smirks, calling upon his Joker persona to cover up how _messy_ he feels inside.

Makoto’s beam fades and shifts into a concerned slant, and she tilts her head to the side. Akira hyper focuses on how her glasses slide down her nose. “You know, I’m always here to listen to you as well. You don’t have to just rely on yourself.” She pushes the glasses back up and reaches for his hands, cold skin making his palms clammy. “You clearly have something on your mind.”

Makoto is perceptive as always; Akira almost slams his head into the coffee table to avoid this conversation and his _clearly_ poor acting. He nearly pulls his hands out of hers to wipe them on his jeans, but Makoto grips them with a determined grasp. Her gaze flickers down in hesitation, but she looks at him again with such conviction he nearly startles. “I know you’re always put together, but that’s not human condition all the time. I don’t want to force you into saying anything, but I will do everything I can to help you. It would be rude of me to not pay you back, right?” She chuckles out the last part and squeezes his fingers even tighter.

 _Do it now_ , Arsene nags, but Akira’s palms are even hotter, and his heart beats even faster, and his tongue dries up, and Makoto stares at him so _fiercely._ But, then she leans away and loosens her grip. She caresses his hands with her thumbs, and what once made his body fall out of his control pulls him back into himself, calming him down with each passing second. “I would rather not talk about it since it’s not that important,” he finally settles on, smiling as genuinely as he can, “but... thank you. It’s nice to hear that explicitly.”

Makoto’s eyebrows draw together in skepticism, but she gives him a final squeeze and sigh before letting him go. Akira falls back against the cushions and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Makoto stands up, glancing at the clock above the television. Akira nearly coos when her stomach growls and she turns rose red, but then, his own wails even louder. Makoto breathes out a quiet laugh and heads for the kitchen, blanket still draped over her shoulders and trailing on the floor. “I’m getting hungry, and you must be too,” she states matter-of-factly. “I hope you don’t mind store sushi.”

Akira watches Makoto prepare the food on little ceramic plates like she’s cooking a real meal, and warmth blossoms in his chest at the pure domesticism she oozes _._ As she positions the chopsticks on a specific diagonal, he mutters, “If only you could help me with this.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you again for getting me the work before the weekend,” Makoto lauds once again as Akira slips into his shoes, tapping his toes against the ground to fit them snugly into the grooves of his feet.

Akira smirks over his shoulder and gives her a thumbs-up. “You’ve said thank you at least three times already, but _you’re welcome._ ” He punctuates his thought with a bow and a tip of an invisible hat.

Makoto groans and rolls her head back, letting it loll to the side. “Never mind.” Akira laughs abruptly and feels a grin curling onto his lips as he opens the door. The rain has calmed down to sprinkling kisses, but Akira still opens his umbrella once he’s under the awning. He tosses a quick goodbye behind him, but Makoto touches his shoulder to stop him. When he turns around, he freezes at the pure intensity behind her glasses. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks one last time. Her cheeks blush, but she stares at him directly.

Rather than letting his nerves swallow him whole, Akira reaches for the hand on his shoulder and smiles reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. Just teen shit. Even Phantom Thieves can’t avoid it.” Instead of smiling along with him, Makoto tenses almost imperceptibly, eyes alight with something Akira can’t name, but he pretends to not see it. They’re both too observant to hide anything from one another.

His hand almost slips from hers, but Makoto steps under the awning with him. Her frames draw all attention to her dark eyes, two gems shimmering up at him. The rain is barely there, but each drop seems to drip right by his ears. Everything moves so quickly yet so slowly all at once, a wet fever dream. Makoto’s face relaxes and sets into determination, and Akira begins melting because _why would she look at him like that?_

Then, she stands on her toes and presses her lips into his cheek, warm and soft and everything he’s ever imagined. Akira stops breathing.

When Makoto pulls away, her entire face flushes, but she still looks at him and _only_ him, not his forehead or his glasses. “I-I hope I wasn’t reading you wrong,” she stutters out, grip slowly tightening on him with desperation, “but I mean... ah, I don’t know what I mean.” She breathes out a nervous laugh and pushes up her glasses with a shaky finger. Akira couldn’t move if he tried.

She watches him warily and slowly loosens their hands. She begins to shrink and turn back for the house; there’s a weight on his shoulders as Arsene urges him forward to do something, _anything,_ before the moment crumbles into dust. Quickly, before he can even think about it, Akira finds her chin and her lips, the umbrella clattering on the concrete, and he prays that he won’t spontaneously combust in her face.

Makoto turns into a statue under his touch, and for a moment, Akira curses Arsene and himself for fucking up _everything,_ but then, she lets go of his hand and runs her fingers along the back of his neck. She doesn’t pry his mouth open or try to deepen the kiss any further, and Akira suddenly remembers that she’s _very sick_ , but he can’t bring himself to pull away.

Makoto tilts her head, and their glasses bump into each other with a shy _plick._ Akira laughs through his nose, and they break apart. The trails her fingers left are electric circuits, lighting him up amidst the sleepy neighborhood. Makoto only has amazement written across her face, and Akira lets out a quiet “Aw” despite himself. She turns even _more_ red and buries her face in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck. Akira closes his eyes and basks in her embrace and how _fantastic_ it feels to hug her without bounds, cradling her around her waist.

They stand in each others’ arms and listen to the symphony of storm. Makoto sighs and sags into him even more, and Akira _thrives._ She stands up properly and keeps her face so close, their noses almost touching. Akira scrunches up his face with the size of his smile because he can’t help it, and Makoto giggles and kisses his nose. _Holy shit, this is happening._

“You’re probably going to get sick,” Makoto eventually says with a tinge of regret. “I wish this happened last week when I was actually healthy.”

Akira rolls his eyes and smooshes his cheek against her hair. “You adult too much. I’ll be fine.” Makoto sputters out a sound of offense, but Akira merely silences her again with his mouth, the second kiss as innocent as the first. “I wish this happened _months ago._ At the summer festival or something,” he mutters against her lips, heart still shaking. “That would’ve been really nice, wouldn’t it?”

Makoto runs a thumb over his cheekbone and brushes the rim of his glasses, mouth parted in shock. Akira internally winces because maybe giving a timeline of your feelings to your not-girlfriend is a bad idea, but her mouth perks up, pearly whites against camellia lips. “I suppose it would’ve been.” Her fingers trail down and tug on his bottom lip, and her eyes brighten like stars. Her smile widens until her eyes are slanting again, and Akira’s heart jumps. “I wouldn’t have minded it happening then at all.”

 

* * *

 

 ** _Niijima Makoto_** **_♡_** _ > Are you upstairs?_

 ** _akirawr xD_ ** _ > you got it_

 

Akira drops his phone on the blanket and hears footsteps already making the stairs creak. His head is _pounding_ like a jackhammer is hitting his skull, and he shuts his eyes to block out the light streaming in from his window. The footsteps eventually make their way over to his bedside, and Akira arranges his hair to hide him from as much light as possible before looking at his visitor. “You told me so.”

“I _did_ tell you so,” Makoto sighs before carefully sitting next to him. There’s a rustling of plastic, and Akira sits up to see his girlfriend placing soft foods and cough drops on his lap. “I believe Ann is coming by later with your work, but I didn’t want to come empty handed,” Makoto continues. Akira’s heart swells as he rips open the medicine and pops a lozenge into his mouth. He turns to smile at her gratefully but freezes in surprise.

“You wore them out.” Makoto stiffens and looks away, adjusting her glasses to sit at the right position on her nose. Akira’s mouth parts as she brushes hair behind her ear; the sunlight turns the bottom half of her frames gold.

“Not to school, but my contacts were bothering me,” she replies a moment later. Her voice is so shy, and she wrings her hands together. Akira reaches for her fingers and intertwines them with his own, beaming with pride. He leans in and kisses all over her face, darting from forehead to cheeks to nose to chin. Makoto glows when he presses one against the corner of her mouth, close but not quite enough. “You smell like lemons and disease. I do _not_ want to get sick again,” she chides with no real malice.

Akira shrugs and sniffs, pulling her into a loose hug. Her hands dart up to play with his hair, shooting sparks down his spine. “If you do, I’ll just swing by again. It’ll be a ruthless cycle.”

Makoto shakes her head and laughs in exasperation, taking off her glasses and putting them on him instead out of curiosity. Her prescription is strong enough that she looks like she’s in bokeh, a kaleidoscope of gold and bronze and everything sunny. “If it’s you, I guess I can deal with it, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> i said makoto's glasses are "Very Niijima" but theyre just my ideal glasses LMAO think oikawa from hq bc hers are exactly like his! i was debating on if mako or akechi would secretly wear glasses and my friends all said makoto so . i birthed this big boy
> 
> anyways, tysm for reading my work!! it truly means a lot to me :) pls subscribe, comment, or leave a kudos if u feel inclined! apologies for any typos fellas it be like that sometimes
> 
> i hope u hv a wonderful day/afternoon/evening!! <3


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